


Love Letter from Sherrinford

by StraightShooter (MsLadySmith)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Molly Hooper Gets What She Wants, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper Kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:29:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsLadySmith/pseuds/StraightShooter
Summary: From the FB writing prompt: The aftermath of "I love you" at Sherrinford





	Love Letter from Sherrinford

“Please, just say it,” Sherlock said, desperation starting to creep into his voice.

“I can’t. Not to you.”

“Why?”

“Because ... because it’s true,” her tears began to fall.  “Because ... it’s ... true, Sherlock.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “It’s always been true.”

Mycroft watched Sherlock as his face returned to its usual emotionless mask.  _I know how hard you are fighting this, little brother._  

“Well, if it’s true, just say it anyway.”

A nervous laugh came from Molly’s lips.  “You bastard,” she snapped at him in a huff.

Sherlock steeled his resolve.  “Say it anyway.”

With a small hopeful smile, Molly looked at her phone, and says, “You say it. Go on. You say it first.”

John and Mycroft looked at each other in horror, convinced Sherlock is patently incapable of such a statement.

“What?” Sherlock looked at the video display, confused.

Cradling the phone, Molly repeated herself.  “Say it.  Say it like you mean it.”

“Final thirty seconds,” Eurus’ voice interrupted.

Sherlock took a deep breath, and began, “I-I ...”

Molly cradled her phone, her eyes closed against her tears, listening intently for Sherlock’s response.

“I love you.” The words flowed from him surprisingly easily.

He looked at the monitor and saw the smile begin to creep across Molly’s face.

“I love you,” he repeaeted, in a gentler voice.

Molly continued to cradle her phone, but didn't respond.  “Molly?” Sherlock asked.  _Please don’t hang up, Molly._

Panic started to creep into his voice.  “Molly, please.”

Molly whispered softly into the phone, “I love you.”

As promised, the timer stopped.  The three men all sigh in relief – the crisis had passed.  Sherlock continued to stare at the young woman on the screen, as she cried softly and hung up.

Mycroft stepped forward.  “Sherlock, however hard that was ...”

“Do shut up, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped.  He scrubbed his face with his hands, trying to regain his composure. 

“You made me break her, Eurus.  Damn you,” Sherlock snarled.

* * *

Molly sat heavily at her kitchen table, her head in her hands.  _Why?  He had to have known…_

She took a deep breath to clear her head, and wrapped her hands around the warm teacup.  Today had started off bad, when she had to take her poor old cat to the vet one last time, and when Sherlock called, had quickly deteriorated into awful.

Her heart hurt.  She drank down the tea, turned off her phone, curled up on the couch, and cried.

* * *

“I have to talk to Molly, John.  I have to fix this.”  Sherlock’s voice was shaded with worry.

John shook his head, “You may not be able to fix it, mate.”

“I have to try.”

Once he ensured that John and Mycroft were taken care of, he walked up to one of the constables, “I need to get back to London.  NOW.”

Lestrade caught the terrified constable’s eye, and nodded, knowing what Sherlock needed, and approving it.  “Right this way, sir,” the young man said nervously, leading Sherlock to a waiting helicopter.

* * *

After a quick stop at Baker Street for a shower and change of clothes, Sherlock hailed another cab and headed to Molly’s flat.

He stood in front of her door for several minutes, trying to formulate his thoughts.  Just as he reached for the knocker, the door slowly opened.  Molly peered up at him, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.

“What do you want now, Sherlock?” she said in a forlorn voice.

Sherlock stepped forward, wrapping his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.  “Your forgiveness, Molly.  Please… forgive me.”

Molly broke down in his arms, clinging to him as though she were drowning and he was the only way to stay afloat.  He gently guided her back into her flat, quietly closing the door behind them.

* * *

Sherlock sat on Molly’s couch, cradling her in his arms as she sat silently, listening, as he recounted the events that had occurred at Sherrinford.

“My sister, Eurus, had convinced us all that if I didn’t get you to profess your love for me, she was going to blow up your flat, and kill you.  I couldn’t let that happen.  I didn’t realize that the alternative was to… to tear you apart like that,” Sherlock’s voice broke.  “I am sorry.”

“I meant it, Sherlock,” Molly looked up at him.  “I have always loved you.”

Sherlock pressed his lips to Molly’s forehead.  “I meant it, too, Molly,” he whispered.

“Don’t tease me, Sherlock…”

“I’m not,” he stroked her face gently.  “I have loved you for years.  You are always so kind to me even when I was an arse.  You… understand… me.”

Molly blushed. 

“I didn’t know how… how to tell you… how to _be_ in love with you.”

“Maybe we can help you figure that out?” Molly looked at him hopefully.

Sherlock smiled at her softly.  “I would like that.”

They held each other tighter, relishing the contact, until they both dozed off, exhausted.

* * *

It was still dark when Sherlock woke.  He and Molly were still tucked together on the couch in her flat.  He carefully scooped Molly into his arms and rose, and carried her to her bedroom, where he laid her gently on her bed and pulled the duvet over her.  Quietly, he closed her bedroom door behind him, and left her flat, heading back to Baker Street.

His flat was quiet.  He’d gotten a text from John earlier, complaining that the A&E was keeping him overnight for ‘observation’ – as though he hadn’t been ‘observed’ enough over the last 24 hours.  Given the ordeal they had been through, a night in hospital was probably not a bad idea.  And, having John away for the night would give Sherlock time to think.

He retreated to his Mind Palace. 

He was always so harsh to her: feigning ignorance when she’s invited him for coffee the day he met John; manipulating her with compliments about her appearance, in order to get what he wanted.  All very heavy-handed, even for him. 

Then after Mary died, her reaction to his drug use had hurt more than physically.  He realized then that it actually bothered him that he’d hurt her.  She’d long ago proved how much she cared for him – the sting of her slaps made him realize how much he cared for her.

“How could I have missed it?” Sherlock wondered aloud.

* * *

“So how do you convince a woman you love her, John?” Sherlock asked.

John raked his fingers through his hair.  “Well, Sherlock, love isn’t a science.  Maybe start by getting to know her?  I mean, not visiting her at work.  Take her to lunch – and no, offering her a bag of crisps doesn’t count as a lunch date.”

Sherlock considered.  “I can do that.”  He pulled out his phone to text Molly.

“NO!” John grabbed his phone away from him.  “You don’t make first dates by text.  You can call her, or stop by the morgue and ask in person.  Not by text.” 

Sherlock frowned.  “Fine,” he put out his hand to get his phone back.  John handed it to him.

Sherlock grabbed his coat, and headed out the door, hailing a cab to get to St. Barts.

* * *

“Hello, Molly,” Sherlock’s deep voice broke the normal morgue silence.  Molly jumped, dropping the tweezers in her hand.

“Christ, Sherlock!  You scared the hell out of me!” Molly hissed.

“Sorry,” Sherlock said, a tinge of sadness in his voice.

Molly looked at the tall man curiously.  “What do you need?  I don’t have any unclaimed bodies at the moment.”

“I… I wanted to… ask you to lunch,” he stammered nervously. 

Molly’s eyes widened.  “Lunch… like a ‘date’?”

Sherlock blushed, and nodded.  “Yes.  A date.  Interested?”

Molly’s expression softened.  “Sure, Sherlock.  Let me finish this, and we can go to lunch.”  She returned her attention to the slides in front of her, a warm smile creeping onto her face.

Sherlock saw the smile, and a similar smile appeared on his face as he walked to her office to wait.

* * *

Sherlock waited in Molly’s office, his foot tapping impatiently.  After about 20 minutes, Molly walked in, took off her lab coat, and grabbed her sweater.  “Where would you like to go for lunch, Sherlock?”

“Do you like Italian?”

“Ooo, yes!  Especially lasagna.”

“I happen to know that Angelo’s serves an excellent lasagna.  Let’s go!” Sherlock offered his arm, and Molly took it as they walked out of the building.

As they walked down the street to Angelo’s, Sherlock gently took hold of Molly’s hand.  Molly smiled.  That was how they walked together, all the way to the restaurant.

From the moment they arrived, Sherlock was a perfect gentleman – holding the door, pulling out her chair, and so forth.  Sherlock caught Angelo’s eye, and within minutes, their meals arrived – a healthy slice of lasagna for Molly, and spaghetti bolognese for Sherlock.  Molly looked at Sherlock quizzically.  “I didn’t see lasagna on the menu…”

“Well, Angelo owes me,” Sherlock smiled.  “I helped him out with a little… problem… he had with Scotland Yard.”

Molly smirked.  “A ‘problem’?”

“I was able to prove that he didn’t murder several people by supplying his alibi – he was breaking into a house on the other side of London at the time of the murder.”

Molly coughed and laughed.  “You have interesting friends, Sherlock.”

After finishing their meals, Molly glanced at her watch.  “I need to get back,” she commented sadly, placing her napkin on the table.  “This was wonderful, Sherlock.  Thank you,” she smiled, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek.  He blushed. 

“Why don’t you come to my place for dinner tomorrow?”

Sherlock’s expression brightened.  “That sounds… good.  Yes, good.  What time should I be there?”

“How about 6 o’clock?”

“It’s a date, then?” he asked tentatively.

Molly laughed.  “Yes, Sherlock, it’s a date.”  She patted his shoulder, and hurried back to St. Bart’s.

* * *

“So she is cooking you dinner tonight?  That’s great, Sherlock!”

“I have no idea what I should wear,” Sherlock yelled from his room, as he pulled clothing from the wardrobe.

“Wear that purple shirt of yours.  The color looks fantastic on you,” John replied from his chair in the living room.

“You don’t think it’s too… presumptuous?  I’ve been told the effect it can have…”

“Of course not.  It’s comfortable, it looks good, it’s clean – I say go for it.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Yes, I’m sure, Sherlock.  Everyone likes that shirt.”

“Everyone?” Sherlock grinned.

John chuckled.

* * *

Molly stepped out of the shower, carefully toweling her hair dry.  She’d selected one of her favorite dresses – a simple wrap dress in royal blue.  Everyone told her how wonderful it looked on her – she hoped Sherlock agreed. 

Looking at the clock, she realized she didn’t have time to blow-dry and style her hair, so she quickly whipped it into a loose braid, and tied it up.  She was never one to use much makeup, and she knew Sherlock hardly noticed it anyway, but she did put on a little bit of lip gloss, at least.

She slipped on a pair of flats, and checked her reflection in the mirror. 

She was in the kitchen checking on the pot roast when there was a light knock on the door.

* * *

Sherlock walked up to the door of Molly’s flat, nervously straightening his suit jacket.  Mycroft had brought by a highly-recommended bottle of red wine – without too much gloating, thank God – and John had reminded him to pick up a bouquet of roses on the way.  “Red or pink roses specifically, Sherlock.  Colors symbolize other things, but you can’t go wrong with red or pink,” John advised.

He knocked lightly on the door.  Molly answered quickly, wiping her hands on a tea towel.  “Oh, Sherlock!  You’re right on time!  Come on in,” she stepped back and let him enter.

He smiled.  “I brought roses.” He handed her the bouquet.  She blushed.  “They’re lovely, Sherlock.  Thank you.  Let me get these into some water,” and she turned toward the kitchen to find a vase. 

Sherlock hung up his coat, and followed.  “Mycroft recommended this wine, so if we don’t like it, we can blame him,” he said.  “Do you have a corkscrew?”

Molly pointed to the wine opener set she had gotten from Lestrade for Christmas last year.  “Right there, Sherlock.”

Sherlock nodded, and opened the wine.  A pair of wine glasses appeared next to him, and he poured a glass for each of them. 

Molly finished arranging the roses in the large vase on the counter, and when she turned to face Sherlock, he handed her a glass.

“A toast?” Sherlock raised his glass tentatively.  Molly smiled sweetly.  “Yes.  A toast to friends.”  She tapped her glass to his.

“To friends.”

They sipped the wine in silence.  “This really is quite good,” Sherlock commented.  “I suppose I have to tell Mycroft that.  He will gloat mercilessly, you know.”

“For geniuses, you two are surprisingly… normal… siblings.”

Sherlock feigned a wounded look.  “No need to insult us by calling us ‘normal’ – we are anything but.”

They both laughed. 

The timer went off.

Molly set her wine glass on the table, grabbed her pot holders and pulled the roast from the oven.

“That smells delicious, Molly,” Sherlock commented, seating himself at the table expectantly.

Molly smiled demurely, and served some of the roast and vegetables onto each of their plates, taking her own seat across from Sherlock.

Sherlock enjoyed the meal immensely.  Though he rarely ate more that what was minimally required to keep his ‘transport’ operational, he found he rather enjoyed good cooking, and Molly’s was excellent.

* * *

As Molly finished putting the last of the dishes into the dishwasher, Sherlock walked up behind her, gently slipping his arms around her waist.  He buried her face in her neck, inhaling her scent – lilac and something else… uniquely her.

Molly shivered as his soft lips trailed up her neck.  “Molly…” he breathed in her ear.

Setting the last dish carefully in the sink, she slowly turned around in the arms around her, and Sherlock’s lips met hers in a tentative kiss.  She responded with an unexpected passion, her tongue urging his lips apart, bringing out a gasp of surprise from him.  He pulled back and looked into her eyes, now darker than he’d ever seen.  She wrapped her hands in the collar of his jacket, pulling him into another heated kiss, her tongue searching for his.

A moan escaped from Sherlock as he again pulled away, gasping for breath.  “Molly… Wait…”

Molly growled, “I’m tired of waiting, Sherlock.  I have waited for years.”  She grabbed his hand and led him toward her bedroom.  “I don’t want to wait anymore.” 

Sherlock’s eyebrows went up, and he followed her.

Once in her bedroom, she again assaulted his lips, kissing him with a fervor that still surprised him, as she continued moving him toward her bed.  When the mattress hit the backs of his knees, he let out a yelp of surprise, and he sat on the bed heavily.  Their lips never parted as she climbed into his lap.

“Molly… are you sure about this?” Sherlock struggled to ask between kisses, as Molly pushed his jacket off his shoulders.

“Never been more sure,” she breathed, her hands moving to the buttons of his shirt.  A momentary struggle, and the loss of a button or two, and the purple shirt fell to the floor with the jacket, revealing his smooth chest.  She ran her hands lightly over his bare skin, sending shivers down his spine as she nibbled and sucked on his neck.

Sherlock’s hand swept over her waist, finding the tie of her dress.  One-handed, he pulled the bow free, and the dress fell open.  With a seductive smile, Molly sat up, shrugging the blue dress to the ground, revealing her lacy bra and panties.  His breath caught.  “Blue is definitely your color…” he purred, the palms of his hands stroking over the lace of her bra.  Molly sighed, leaning her head back.  He nuzzled her neck, nipping gently. 

The sight of Molly – sweet, innocent Molly… _his_ Molly - straddling him this way, with the blue lingerie, and obvious lust in her eyes had an immediate effect - his erection was straining against his trousers almost instantly. 

Sherlock stroked her hair, deftly untwisting her braid.  “You are so beautiful…” he murmured, running his fingers through her waves.  Her eyes drifted closed, reveling in his touch. 

Molly pressed her hand flat against his chest, forcing him to lie back.  She grabbed his wrists, pulling them away from her body and pressing them to the mattress as she kissed him deeply again.  Thus gently pinned, he groaned in frustration, and his hips jerked against her.  She sat back and slowly released his wrists, stroking her hands across his lean arms, down his chest, and down to his waistband, smiling at the obscene sounds he made as she palmed his erection through his trousers.  She made quick work of his remaining clothing, shifting their positions just long enough to push trousers and pants to his knees, where he kicked them to the floor. 

She moved down his thighs, kissing her way down his chest.  The touch of her lips was almost electric as she continued past his navel.

He shivered as he felt her long hair brush against his hip, and nearly cried out as she ran her tongue up his length.  “Ungh… Molly…” he groaned as she took him into her mouth.  He gently rested his hand on the back of her head – more to steady himself than to encourage her, since it appeared she needed no encouragement.  She took as much as she could into her mouth, her tongue stroking him as her head slowly bobbed.  He fought to keep his hips still, but it became increasingly difficult. 

“Molly… Molly!” he stammered.  “You have to stop… I can’t…”  He roughly grabbed her arms and pulled up her back up, crushing his lips against hers, his cock trapped deliciously between them.  “I want you…”  he gasped.  His hands settled on her lace-clad hips.  “I think you’re over-dressed…” he whispered in her ear. 

She chuckled darkly.  “What are you going to do about that?”

He wrapped his arm around her waist firmly, and flipped her onto the bed beneath him.  Her eyes flew wide in surprise, and he smiled.

His long fingers stroked down her chest, deftly unclasping the front of her bra, letting her pert breasts fall free.  She gasped as he took a nipple in his mouth, tonguing it as she writhed beneath him.  He continued stroking, his fingertips trailing down her sides, reaching the lace edge of her panties, and swiftly pulling them off, discarding them in the puddle of clothing on the floor. 

His hand stroked up her inner thighs, soft and teasing, as Molly bucked and begged beneath him.  He crushed his lips to hers, as his hand drifted to her wetness, stroking as she cried out and arched. 

He broke away from the kiss, both of them gasping.  “Condom?” Sherlock asked.

Molly reached under the pillow and pulled out a package.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow.  “So you were planning this, I take it?” he gave her a crooked smile.

She blushed, and tore open the packet.  “Maybe…” she grinned.  She pushed him back and reached down, rolling the condom over him.  He groaned.  Molly hooked a leg around his hips, and pulled him to her, crying out as he slid home. 

“Mmmm, Molly… my beautiful Molly…” Sherlock whispered in her ear, his tongue teasing her ear lobe, setting a leisurely, gentle pace.

Molly wrapped her legs around him.  “Like you mean it, Sherlock…” she hissed, urging him to a faster, rougher pace.  He smiled into her shoulder, and nipped her hard, leaving what would surely be a purple mark. 

He grabbed her hips and leaned back, reveling in her gasps and moans as he kept up the pace.  As her passion climbed and her breathing became more erratic, they locked eyes briefly.  He reached between them and thumbed her tender bud, pushing her over the edge in a rush.  She arched her back, and his name tore from her throat in a strangled cry.  The sights and sounds of her orgasm were enough to send him over after her, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep inside her, his fingers digging almost painfully into her hips.

Spent, he collapsed beside her, the only sound for several minutes their shaky breathing.  As an after-thought, he discarded the condom in the bin.  He reached for Molly’s hand, twining their fingers together as they lie side-by-side, both with their eyes closed, enjoying their after-glow.

Molly started giggling.

Sherlock’s eyes shot open, and he rolled onto his side, supporting himself on an elbow and looking down at her.  “Something amusing?”

“Oh, Sherlock… do you realize how long we’ve been dancing around this?”

“Mmmm.  Yes, I suppose we have… though I doubt anyone else saw it.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that,” Molly responded with a twinkle in her eye.  “I know of a certain army doctor who had an idea.”

“Really, now?  I don’t give John enough credit.”

“Well, if you don’t want to deal with him crowing ‘I told you so’, you might consider keeping the top button of your shirt buttoned for a while,” she giggled, reaching up and softly touching the love bite she’d left near the base of his neck. 

“You should avoid bare shoulders for a while, too,” his eyes twinkled, as he gently kissed the mark he’d left. 

He laid back on the pillows, and she pulled up the duvet and rested her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat.  He put his arm around her, and as soon as he felt her relax into deep sleep, his eyes closed, as well.

* * *

Sherlock lay awake, Molly still curled up against his chest, fast asleep.  His hand idly stroked her hair.  Pre-dawn light came through the window, bathing them in a faint orange glow. 

“I love you, Molly Hooper,” he whispered, his thumb gently stroking her face, so peaceful as she slept.

“I know.  I love you, too, Sherlock Holmes,” she smiled sleepily.


End file.
